


The Interrogation

by ecrituredudesir



Category: Furry (Fandom), Neopets, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Blackmail, Feathers & Featherplay, Furry, Interrogation, Tickle torture, Tickling, cartoon nudity sfw, threat of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 02:21:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16924716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecrituredudesir/pseuds/ecrituredudesir
Summary: A work for someone on furaffinityUnder the suspicion of being a synth, Medical Officer Mercy is taken from a starport and subjected to Tobias's special form of interrogation.





	The Interrogation

When their ship had pulled into the starport, it had been routine and uneventful. Mercy, a Korbat that served the crew’s medical officer, needed to stop for supplies and replenish the medical bay of anything that had been used since their last port visit, particularly since she had begrudgingly been more generous with headache medicine and pain killers for a few wounds—it had been at the behest of Melody, who she had been having a harder and harder time saying ‘no’ to, lately. It was to her surprise that the crew even sent her a few wave goodbyes as she passed them on her way out of the ship, since they hadn’t done so in their trips to starports before. Maybe Melody’s influence was having a more positive effect after all. Still, she had to be careful—if any of the other staff discovered that she was a synth, then she had the crushing feeling that they would still turn her over to the Inquisition.  
  
Adjusting her bag on her shoulder as she stepped down from the steps of the connected port that would carry them out to the port. The cargo crew would be busy for several hours unloading their current cargo and dealing with the onboarding of fresh supply, so she knew she had plenty of time to look; the port customs would check her bag as normal, finding it empty apart from her basic identification and a few various space currencies so she could effectively barter for anything she found that she wanted, and she continued on—at least, until, she moved towards the exit of the checking station. Before she even realized it, Mercy was flanked on both sides by men in military uniforms, who checked her elbows fast to her sides, and crushed her wings to her back to slide a bag over her head. It was some sort of burlap—breathable, but it kept her from seeing anything, and she gave a startled little cry as they lifted her small, petite frame up and outright carried her. Her protests and demands for answers were met with a stern silence and a hand pressed over the outside of the bag to keep her silent, quietening her struggles. The darkness persisted, event after she felt her back hit the cold metal of a flat surface. Here, she could feel her clothing stripped away, with each of her limbs strapped down with the sensation of cold metal attached. A heavy restraint was snapped around her torso, offering her modesty but leaving her sides and belly exposed.   
  
It felt like several minutes passed before she finally heard other shuffling in the room; the soldiers had all cleared out, but the figure she looked upon was a weasel wearing a cloak that bore a terrifyingly familiar logo. The Inquisition logo, the mark of a professional synth hunter. Tobias wore it as proudly as he wore his disdain for the synths on his sleeve.  
  
Before he could even start levying accusations against her, she tensed, and spat a quick, “I’m innocent. Let me go, right now. I don’t have time for this.”   
  
The blunt demand made him lift a single brow, and her conviction at least made him glance down to his files once more. While he wouldn’t let her know, the file he had on the tablet before him was a comprehensive history of every hospital record and starport check in that customs had ever done on the Korbat—a steady file of how across the last few years, her weight, height, bone density and muscle mass had not changed once, while the average person saw a difference in a few pounds give or take, Mercy had had no differences. His suspicions were peaked, but he wouldn’t be telling her why. He levelled a gaze with her once more, and drew a breath. “Medical Officer Mercy, was it? I am Inquisitor Tobias. You’ve been brought here under the suspicion of being a synth.” He spoke with the command and authority in his tone that suggested he already knew she was a synth, but she knew he couldn’t anything about it without hard proof.   
  
There was a reason they were called the Inquisition. They had to back up their claim.  
  
“You’re-“  
  
He cut her off with a sudden, firm continuation of his statement, immediately beginning to talk over her. “The machine that we’ve connected you to is the best equipped to prove you aren’t human. The technology put into this sphere had never failed to discern a synth from a real individual before.”   
  
She couldn’t quite see what he meant by ‘sphere,’ but she could feel the subtle shift of the metallic limbs around her; each one of them was connected to the clasps placed on her limbs and around her waist. As he gave a motion to the machine, it brought her closer so she could flinch away when his hands lifted. Her neck was slender, petite even, and the collar that he placed around it fit perfectly with a little tightening. Her breath grew short, not from the tightness of the collar, but from the fear of what he was about to her. She could see him pull up the app on his little tablet, and knew from the soft electrical sensation the collar let off that it was monitoring her life support, her heart rate, and other biometrics. She could see that her heartbeat was at a rapid pace—but it was no more fast than how her mind was racing at the sudden risk of the Inquisition realizing they’d actually caught another synth. From here, however, he stepped back to observe from a distance.   
  
The machine holding her seemed to hum to life, and it moved her easily to a completely vulnerable position, spreading her arms and legs wide. From within the sphere, another limb emerged, though this time there was already something clasped in in the claw-like tip. She saw it, and raw confusion crossed her features seconds before she realized what he was doing. In the metal clasp sat a simple, white feather. However, this limb didn’t approach first—instead, more limbs began to stretch out from the orb, these with robotic little fingers that spiraled and circled around in fluid motions. Her gaze jerked back to Tobias, with one last look of desperation. Then the mechanical hands descended.   
  
The fingers began to curl and twist with light touches against the underside of her arm pits at first. The AI of the machine was adjusting, little to her knowledge, an ever-adapting device by the most forward of the Inquisition’s tech squad, each touch gauging her physical response to each stimuli. The minute the fingers began to flick and move against the underside of her arms, she choked out a quick laugh, and the response was all the machine needed to start kicking up the rush of the other arms moving forward, each of them brushing and stroking and tickling the spots that its system registered as ticklish. They brushed along the underside of her arms and along her armpits, wiggling against the fur there and making her writhe.   
  
Her laughter was starting to fill the room now, unhindered and unbridled as the sound echoed off of the walls, her eyes going wide as she tried to draw in a breath with increasingly little luck. But the metal fingers did not relent, even when her laughter pitched up into a soft shriek as she squirmed to and fro on the device, trying to work herself away from the torment, with no avail. The fingers continued to tickle despite her laughter, some of them going as far as to start exploring the different parts of her body that might pose a more intensive torment for the Korbat. Little by little, her laugher started to make her breathless as she jerked and twisted, tears beginning to well in the corners of her eyes from the force of the laughter. The fingers were now working their way across her neck above and below the collar that had been placed on it, tickling the side of it, only to move to tickling the other side of it when she flinched to one side or the other. Her laughter was hard enough to make her chest hurt, winding as she gasped for breath between each little howl and squeal. They made experimental passes over her wings, using further metallic hands to explore her reactions when they tickled over the delicate, sensitive membrane skin of her soft wings, making them flutter in both her laughter and the effort to pull them a little further away from the device. The response was simple—the orb simply reached out to grasp the tips of her wings, stretching them out gradually so the other fingers could explore the span of them, especially the little softer tufts of fur that were a little more tender than the rest of her wings. Though she tried to curl her hands into a fist, she found that they managed to tickle the tender palms of her hands, too, making her fingers loosen from their tense fists, which only let them tickle her more. Her laughter became forceful but short of air.   
  
“Bhahahaha- n-no!” She cried, desperate to try and both catch her breath and speak through the force of her laughter. “L-pffaaha- please let me-“ Before Mercy could get off another word, the sensation of tickling was increased tenfold. If she was able to draw breath enough to speak or beg, Tobias considered that the settings were far too easy. It was easy to move up their speed from the tablet, and she squealed with laughter once more as the fingers started to explore further. With her squirming to flinch her neck, the intuitive systems of the orb began to explore further. Still holding her taut, she thought that when the fingers took a pause, she’d be able to catch her breath; what she didn’t expect was the sudden movement of the machine to bend her outwards, with her back arched and her stomach exposed and vulnerable. Here, the tickling fingers pulled away for only the one arm holding the thin, long feather to remain. She already felt like the torment had lasted a couple of hours at least, her lungs burning from the force of her laughter, and the impassive way that Tobias watched on, immune to any sign of empathy to her torment.   
  
It was a sturdier feather than what she normally saw—surely from a creature whose stems were firmer and more suited for tickling through the soft fur on Mercy’s belly. With her stomach exposed by the clasps on her torso, she could only watch in slow rising dread as the feather tickled a soft tip against her belly button first in a slow circle. She hadn’t gotten her breath back from the first round of laughing to be able to plead for relief, but now that the feather had come into play, it was clear that she didn’t have much of a chance to plead for her sanity. Her laughter kicked off immediately again, her eyes closing tightly as tears of laughter started to spill down her cheeks. The feather trailed and flicked along her soft belly and then began to trail in longer, more dedicated flicks along the front of her torso, testing which regions were more tender than others—the AI system found that there was a heavier response in her laughter when the feather trailed along her sides as well, so another limb came from the core of the sphere, with another feather at the tip of it. The two began to work in unison, a regular pattern set up with a flick of a feather forwards from the curve of her hip up, and then another flick backwards from the front. They changed intermittently, making the Korbat squeak and squirm, laughing so loudly that Tobias wondered briefly if the soundproofing on the room would be enough to stop her sounds from escaping.   
  
Her breath was becoming shorter, almost faint—and Tobias realized that she was laughing so hard that she might just faint. He was prepared for this, and in the process, he clicked a singular button that sat next to her vitals on the app. Suddenly, there was a little sting in her neck, and a rush of adrenaline began to flood her, filling her with vitality that she found herself almost dreading what this new energy would make her suffer through. After the feathers proved to be successful, the fingers returned, testing out the earlier areas they’d found a heavy response from in her feet. They tickled with just the fingers at first, and suddenly the adrenaline the collar had injected her with felt like it was making every nerve in her hum with sensitivity, and she couldn’t help the hoarse laughter that continued onwards.   
  
Her feet, which the machine determined to drawing the most response, were targeted for what felt like hours longer. Every time she came remotely close to hyperventilating. Tobias would back off of the strength of the machine, letting her recover just enough to be miserable with slow laughter she couldn’t squirm away from. Just as she thought that he could do no worse, however, the machine hummed behind her, and she was positioned upwards with her legs stretched in front of her.  Her feet were exposed here, so she could see the approach of a new form of the machine’s tools. The new long tentacle was covered in tiny, moving tentacles of its own, each one as small as a piece of yarn. Each long arm was covered with at least twenty smaller extensions, each wriggling as they pressed fully to her feet. She yowled with laughter immediately, her eyes almost rolling as she struggled against her bindings in full force once more, barely able to breathe between each burst of laughter by that point.   
  
Mercy could feel every small moving part like a separate finger wiggling and tormenting the soles of her feet, the little crevices between the sole of her feet and her toes, and then tickling at her toes as well. She could feel the strange little thing appendages working between her toes too, wrapping around her feet and tickling up the sides to her ankle, all while she thrashed against her bondages and screamed her laughter once more. The only reprieve from her hard laughter was the few more times that he would allow the machine to slow down so she wouldn’t pass out from exhaustion or lack of air, but the minute her vitals would start to return to a moderate amount, he would begin with the full force anew.   
  
She had never laughed so hard in her entire life, but she found herself laughing too hard to even think or consider that, her chest aching with the force of it and her lungs burning each time another tortured squeal or peal of giggles slipped free. Her snickers were wheezing, lost for words and the laughter was too intensive to breathe or speak through any longer. Only when he looked into her eyes and was sure that he’d seen the signs of a broken woman did he allow the machine to cease the intensive torment, and even when the limbs of the machine began to pull back, it left her skin with a feather-light sensation of hyper-sensitivity. The movement of her own fur against itself when she shifted tiredly in the machine brought a few, weary, strained chuckles from her, like the aftershocks of laughter that would hit from giggling too hard or too long at a joke. It would be a lingering after effect for several minutes, in which time he let her catch her breath. He waited until her few, final spurts of laughter would stop, looking impassively on at the tears that stained the fur of her cheeks a darker color. Her eyes with glassy and tired, but she’d been reflex-crying for the last hour or so of her torture. It was something that Tobias was used to seeing, so he wasn’t particularly affected by it; there was no pity in his gaze as he approached, the tablet in his hands showing the recovery of her biometics to a safer range. He wasn’t going to give her too long to recover, she felt, but at the same time she couldn’t help but hope that after such torment, he would get it all over with.  
  
Mercy was a mess. The hours of torment had left her numb once the sensitivity wore off, particularly in the limbs that had been moved and manipulated into positions to leave her vulnerable. Her fur was dark with sweat, a small puddle of which sat on the ground below her from where it’d been dripping from her fur for the last couple of hours; even with the chance to catch her breath, each one felt like a labor, hoarse and shallow before she would pant softly to draw in another.   
  
Tobias showed no sign of pity, standing straight again to lift her head, forcing her to make eye contact with him. Otherwise, every part of her body seemed to hang limp from the bindings.   
  
“Are you a synth?” Every word left his lips like he paused for effect between each one. He was searching her gaze for any sort of doubt.   
  
“No,” she rasped in return, and he tutted faintly, before pulling up another screen on the tablet, holding it up for her to see. He could see the horror in her gaze as she recognized as two other members of her crew—Dazzle, the Salandit security officer of the cargo ship she worked on, but that wasn’t who she was worried about, and Melody. Sweet melody, the Popplio who had so recently started to open her world view on the people she worked with. The musician who had managed to ‘crack’ the stern and unkind mask on their medical officer. Both of them were hooked to machines that looked similar to what Mercy had just suffered through, but it seemed their own torment had only just begun. They had plenty of energy left and she could see their bodies contorting with their own cries of laughter.   
  
“What’re you-“ she started, lifting her head to swallow hard, fear in her gaze.  
  
“If you confess to being a synth, they’ll be freed. They’ll be safe.” There was no room for argument in his tone. Mercy’s shoulders sagged in defeat, and her eyes closed. He had her.   
  
“…I’m a synth.” She didn’t open her eyes; she didn’t want to see what would come next. There was one fate to being a synth, and she was trying her best to prepare for it: a single gunshot that would end her life. The minute that passed of her waiting in darkness felt like an eternity, but to her surprise, she found the machine slowly starting to move around her, lowering her to the ground carefully. Tobias had stepped away, and the orb’s arms retreated away from her. Her eyes opened, and she levelled him with a confused gaze.  
  
“You’ve passed the test,” Tobias started, adjusting to collect his bag once more, while he turned his back on her. In her stunned silence, he could tell she didn’t understand. “…A real synth would have happily let their crew members suffer for the sake of their own life. They’re cold, unfeeling creatures that know no decency and only value themselves. That was the test.”  
  
Mercy wanted to be angry; she wanted to be offended, but that might truly reveal her to be a synth after all. Instead, she was too exhausted to express her frustration, only levelling him with a look almost too weak to stand. “What if someone was a synth, and they confessed anyway…?” she tried to word it to not incriminate herself, looking genuinely confused.   
  
Tobias paused as he moved towards the doorway, but her question seemed to make him genuinely think, before he’d answer: “…I believe that that’s impossible.” She had a feeling he’d answer that; judging from his rank and his lack of any real emotion to her begging during her torment, she could only pin him as the fanatical type. Still, he continued. “…If a synth really did care about their crewmates as you’ve shown today, though, maybe that sort of synth deserves a chance. That’s purely hypothetical; as I told you, they’re far more concerned with self preservation.” He didn’t look back, but gestured to her clothing where it’d been left in a pile in the corner. “Get dressed. You and your friends will be compensated for the trouble today.”   
  
Mercy gave a tired look over to the clothing, not sure that she had the energy to recover for at least an hour to dress herself—but before she could express that, the Inquisitor was on his way through the door, leaving her as if he’d never been there in the first place.


End file.
